EVE POV
The velvet couch in our hotel suite was far too soft. It was the kind of furniture that tried to swallow you whole, which was exactly what I was letting it do. I was slouched so low my spine was basically a suggestion, my feet kicked up on a mahogany coffee table that probably cost more than a small car. Across from me, Adam was in a similar state of structural collapse, though he managed to look like a bored prince even when he was melting into the cushions.
In the kitchenette, the Old Man—back to his usual, fraying self—was clattering around with a frying pan. The smell of searing garlic and butter drifted over, a domestic scent that felt strangely grounded compared to the neon hum of Jorgen City outside our windows.
"Almost done," the Old Man called out, his voice competing with the sizzle. "Try to sit like humans, please. You're going to give yourselves permanent spinal curvature."
"Humans slouch, Father," I shot back, not moving a muscle. "It's a fundamental part of the experience. Besides, this couch is a masterpiece of laziness. It would be an insult to the designer to sit up straight."
Adam didn't even look up from his phone. "She's right. Gravity is particularly insistent today."
The massive flatscreen mounted on the wall was currently tuned to some mindless reality show about people trapped on an island, but suddenly, the screen flickered. A sharp, urgent chime cut through the air, and the "Breaking News" graphic splashed across the screen in jagged red letters.
"Finally, something better than people eating bugs," I muttered, grabbing the remote to turn up the volume.
A news anchor appeared, looking professionally distressed. "...disturbing reports continue to flood in from the Aurelian District and the coastal suburbs. In the last forty-eight hours, seven more citizens have been reported missing. No signs of struggle, no ransom demands—just empty beds and cold coffee. Local authorities are baffled, but the Council has just issued a formal response."
The camera cut to a live feed in front of the Council's regional headquarters. My eyes narrowed.
"Hey, look who it is," I said, nudging Adam's foot with my boot. "Our friend from the mall."
Standing on the marble steps was Jeremy Klice. He wasn't wearing the suit from yesterday; he was in a sleek, navy-blue tactical uniform with the silver crest of the Klice family on his chest. And he wasn't alone. He was flanked by six others—two girls and four boys—each of them standing with that same insufferable, ramrod-straight posture. They looked like they had been manufactured in a factory for "Perfect Human Specimens."
The Blue-tier energy coming off them through the screen was palpable. It was a chorus of low-tier Light Impulse, synchronized and polished. They didn't just have an air of superiority; they were practically suffocating the reporters with it.
A reporter shoved a microphone toward Jeremy. "Mr. Klice! The public is terrified. Are these disappearances linked to a Rift leak? And why has the Council bypassed the Sentinels to involve your group specifically?"
Jeremy took the mic with a practiced, languid grace. He looked into the camera—directly into my living room, it felt like—and gave a small, confident smile.
"The public has nothing to feel but protected," Jeremy said, his voice smooth and dripping with noble polish. "The Sentinels are a fine blunt instrument, but these disappearances require a... more refined touch. My team and I have been personally tasked by the Council to resolve this 'mystery.' It's time we showed the city what the next generation of prodigies is truly capable of."
One of the girls behind him, a blonde with eyes that looked like cold glass, stepped forward. "We've already narrowed the search to the Sector 4 coastal line. If there is a predator in Jorgen City, it should know that it's no longer the top of the food chain."
Another boy, a tall, brooding type with a shock of red hair, chuckled softly. "Honestly, it's a bit of a bore, isn't it? Chasing ghosts in the suburbs. But I suppose even the Council needs a reminder of who actually keeps the lights on."
The reporter scrambled to keep up. "Some are calling this an audition for the Inner Circle. Is it true that the highest performer in this investigation will be fast-tracked to the Sanctum?"
Jeremy's eyes glinted. "The Council values results, not rumors. But we intend to provide plenty of the former."
The feed cut back to the anchor, but I had already clicked the mute button. I stayed slouched, but the boredom was gone, replaced by a sharp, prickly heat in my chest.
"Prodigies," I spat, the word tasting like bile. "They look like a synchronized swimming team. Did you see the way they stood? I bet they practice their 'heroic gazes' in the mirror for three hours every morning."
Adam finally sat up, his eyes fixed on the frozen image of Jeremy on the screen. "They're arrogant because they've never felt a real vacuum. They think their Blue-tier flicker is the sun because they're standing in a room full of candles."
"They're just kids playing soldier," the Old Man said, walking into the living room with three plates of pasta. He looked at the screen, then back at us, his expression unreadable. "The Council loves a good show. It keeps the 'mice' distracted while they move the real pieces. People go missing in a city this size every day. It's a tragedy, but it's a human one. Don't let their performance get under your skin."
He set the plates down on the coffee table. "We're here to rest. We've been in that lab for a long time, and your cores need to stabilize in a natural environment. The fact that we're three blocks away from the 'mystery' zone is a coincidence. Nothing more. Eat your dinner."
I picked up my fork, but I wasn't hungry. I looked at the dark window, at the flickering lights of the city below. People were vanishing. The "prodigies" were hunting. And here we were, the high-tier masterpieces, eating carbonara and pretending we didn't have enough power to flatten the entire district if we felt like it.
"It's weird, though, right?" I said, twirling a noodle around my fork. "No struggle? Just... gone? Even a Low-tier Red or Blue would make a mess if they were being taken. To take seven people without a sound... that's not a human predator."
"The world is full of strange things, Eve," the Old Man said, his voice unusually quiet. "Most of them aren't our business."
"I think it's hilarious," I said, a slow, dangerous smile spreading across my face. "Imagine Jeremy and his little fan club running into something they can't talk down with their family crest. I'd pay to see that blonde girl's face when she realizes her 'Blue-tier touch' doesn't work on whatever is lurking in the dark."
Adam picked up his plate, his Divine Light core giving off a faint, golden warmth that made the air shimmer. "If they find it, they'll kill it and be hailed as heroes. If they don't... the Council will just send the Sentinels to burn the evidence."
"Either way, we stay out of it," the Old Man warned, pointing a finger at me. "I mean it, Eve. No 'scouting.' No 'accidental' run-ins. We are tourists. Nothing more."
"Yeah, yeah. Tourists," I muttered, finally taking a bite of the pasta.
But the Black Impulse in my veins was humming. It was a low, insistent thrum, like a cat purring in the dark. It didn't care about the news, or the Council, or Jeremy's stupid navy-blue uniform. It just felt the proximity of the "Nothing."
For eight months, I had been the only shadow in a world of glass and light. But something out there was making people disappear. Something that moved without a sound and left no trace.
I looked at Adam. He was staring at the balcony, his jaw set. He felt it too. The city wasn't just noisy; it was tense. It was waiting for a spark.
"Hey, Father?" I asked, looking at the Old Man.
"Yes?"
"If the 'prodigies' get into trouble... we're still just tourists, right?"
The Old Man sighed and sat down in his own chair, looking older than he had ten minutes ago. "Eve, if that group gets into trouble, the entire district will be under lockdown within twenty minutes. Just eat your food."
I sank back into the couch, the velvet feeling less like a cloud and more like a cage. Outside, the sun was finishing its descent, leaving the city in a bruised, purple twilight.
Jeremy Klice was out there right now, probably making some grand speech to his team about duty and honor. He thought he was the hunter. He thought he was the light in the dark.
I looked at my hand, watching a tiny, microscopic thread of black matter dance between my fingers.
Good luck, Jeremy, I thought, a cold, silent laugh vibrating in my chest. I hope the dark is as polite to you as you are to the cameras.